


Make You a Man

by XYDamianKane



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Young Justice (Comics)
Genre: Dubious Morality, Dubious Science, Extremely Dubious Consent, Lab Sex, M/M, Mad Science, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Objectification, Pregnancy Kink, References to Frankenstein, Technobabble, Trans Male Character, Trans Tim Drake, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 06:07:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20670569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XYDamianKane/pseuds/XYDamianKane
Summary: Remember when Tim low-key lost it and tried over and over to re-clone Kon? This is that, but more of a Rocky Horror Picture Show direction. For sure with less muscle worship, though.





	Make You a Man

**Author's Note:**

> I am seriously begging y'all to mind the tags.
> 
> Obviously don't clone your dead friend and then immediately bone said clone. That's just bad lab safety and like... so many crimes.

Tim thinks the thunderstorm is a little on the nose and besides, it substantially increases the risk of a power outage. Not that he doesn’t have backup generators on backup generators ready to go, but he’ll feel better once the storm is over.

Using more power than he already is might attract unwanted attention.

He has his lab coat, his wrist computer, and a pair of big rubber gloves laid out by the bathroom sink, ready for the night ahead. For now, he’s wearing an old sweatshirt and pajama pants. He’s curled up on his bed and is focusing on Animal Crossing with deliberate intensity to distract himself from his own anxious nausea. 

He flits over to the weather app: it looks like this is just the tail end of the storm before it makes its way further inland. He exhales through his mouth and mentally runs through the plan again. 

He’s done so much and been so many places to bring this all together. Swiping DNA, bits and pieces of equipment, pirating code. He’d almost proud, if it weren't for his prickling conscience.

Tim hears the rain slow outside, and stands. He automatically gets ready, and stares at his hands so long while he washes them that his eyes unfocus. He's got to snap out of it.  
  
He locks the door to the lab before he switches on the breaker for the lights. They are at 34.7% power, so as to not be too harsh on its--on Kon’s eyes. He has installed red gels of his own design on 78% of them. It is the wavelength that will prove the least disruptive to sore, new-grown eyes and serves the purpose of inducing a partial Red Sun Effect.

This time, Kon can be introduced to his powers at Tim’s own pace. 

Tim can admit to himself that it lends the room a pretty ominous hue. It’s a sharp contrast to the vivid green glow from the pod in the center of the room. It makes Tim think first of Christmas, then of the Lazarus pit. 

Maybe Jason will try to kill him again, after all of this. Tim would totally understand the urge.

He brushes it off. Kon won’t register any of these connotations until later, anyways, and tonight’s all about him. The temperature and humidity are set precisely to Tim’s requirements and have been for weeks. 

Tim doesn’t want to be hopeful, but can’t help himself. He pads over to the computer, footfalls muffled by sanitary boot covers, and turns it on.

He finds himself idly sorting through through Cadmus’ education files, looking for anything coded with certain language patterns that could be...dangerous.

The algorithm pulls a paragraph from the History Subsection about the collapse of the USSR and Tim scans it, thinks for a minute, and changes the connotation parameters of two words before re-inserting the whole thing into the stream. 

He’s sorted through these files a dozen times already, because he’s a perfectionist. Tim’s spent enough time with interlocking positronic networks in the past to feel comfortable meddling with this one, despite how _ precious _ this code was to him personally. No structural changes: just little ones. 

It’s largely inputs and outputs: insignificant preferences, mostly. No high-level systems changes; nothing noticeable to anyone that mattered. 

Tim feels detached from his body, as he preps the program to run (hopefully this one, final time). He doesn’t feel anything, but clinically notes that his hands are shaking and that there’s slickness between his thighs. It’s probably just nerves.

It’s so quiet down here but for the clatter of the keyboard and the muted bubbling of liquid in the tank behind him.

It’s ready--he’s ready. He inhales so loudly it nearly startles him. He hits ‘Execute’ before his nerves can stop him and wheels his chair out from the desk. He stands and walks over to the breakers on the wall and pulls them in perfect, color-coded order.

A whirring adds itself to the quiet din of the bubbling noise, then there’s a metallic start-up noise.

Tim locks the breakers in position and walks back to his desk chair. He sits down and curls up small, head resting on his knees. He can hardly bear to watch, even though the glass of the tank is opaque enough to conceal all but a shadow.

He wants so intensely to not have to _ do _ this anymore. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes so hard that shapes swim in the darkness.

He’s not sure how long he has to wait--but after a few minutes, realizes that something had always gone wrong by this point in his previous efforts.

He dares to look up. There’s a dark silhouette hanging in the tank, surrounded by swirling, multicolored liquids, and all of the gauges look...within stable ranges, upon first glance.

The computer isn’t screaming any warnings at him. He tuns the chair back to face the monitor so he can get a better look at the progress so far. He pulls up the camera feed and the sight of progress--here--makes his vision blur with tears. He watches breathlessly as the shape grows and refines before him. It’s like watching an invisible sculptor work, he thinks.

The tank begins draining and Tim feels the panic setting in. He never let himself think this far ahead. He breathes and counts the seconds.

Kon’s first emergence was marked by volatility, but the simultaneous ability to communicate. Tim’s threaded needles like this before. He grabs his handheld recorder and starts logging under his breath on autopilot.

The last of the fluid in the tank bubbles into the drain and there’s a pressurized hiss before the lock clicks open. Tim stands and walks forward, through the red and the shadows, and opens the door.

“Hello--I’m Tim.” 

A brilliant start it is _ not_, but it _ is _ a start, and that’s all he can really ask from his brain right now.

Kon doesn’t reply. His features are just as striking as Tim remembers, made more so by the low light and harsh shadows. His skin glistens in the light, still wet with translucent greenish fluid. It’s a beautiful, terrifying picture.

It's partially because he’s staring Tim down. He doesn’t appear to be engaging any of the muscle groups Tim associates with his heat vision activating, though. That’s good, right?

Tim feels a realization click into place in the back of his mind but before he has time to process it, Kon is at his throat.

Luckily, Tim is a goddamn professional at dealing with this sort of thing on instinct and uses the leverage his left leg has to flip Kon over and pin him. Kon is naked and breathing hard under him and Tim wishes desperately it was under different circumstances. Tim is so tired of fighting.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Tim says, as gently as he knows how.

Kon tries to buck Tim off with his hips, but Tim can tell the effort is halfhearted, even powerless as he is.

Tim risks pinning both of Kon’s wrist with one hand and sliding down his body a little bit. Kon stays put, so Tim strokes one hand down his side like he’s soothing an animal 

_(Kon had taught him how to gentle the horses, he hadn’t had a lot of experience with animals, rich, neglected city boy who never had pets, and--)_

Kon’s breathing is softer, now, than the angry, desperate huffing it had been before. His stare is still equal parts intense and vacant. There’s a focus there--but on what?

Tim thinks to wait it out, absentmindedly petting the tense body below him and shushing. It’s all he can do, at least for now.

Kon shudders and coughs up a little bit of green fluid. It splatters on his chin.

Tim shifts his weight and raises his thumb to wipe it off. He holds the face below him in the palm of his hand.

Tim rises above his racing thoughts and whispers, “I missed you so much,” and leans down to kiss him.

Kon doesn’t really respond, but doesn’t try to get away again. Tim returns to himself and pushes back up.

He taps the front pocket of his lab coat to make sure the recorder is still there. There’s not really procedural guidelines for cloning experiments of this scale and moral ambiguity, but this still feels...deeply unprofessional. It’s pretty much the worst possible lab safety protocol breaches he can think of. He lets out a sharp noise like a laugh at the thought.

Kon flinches, and Tim pulls back, but refocuses on the pin. He can't afford to be careless.

Tim's eyebrows furrow. He's is running through everything he can think of that could be _ wrong _ and is coming up blank. He sees Kon mimic his expression and it makes him smile.

“Can you understand me?” Tim says.

Kon doesn’t respond immediately but seems to recognize that Tim is addressing him.

Tim is really nervous, now. He hadn’t messed with the actual code around language development, but what if he had changed something by mistake?

Communication faculties should definitely be functional by now and there doesn’t seem to be residual memory of Tim, per se, so imprinting is key, but perhaps--

Suddenly, Tim remembers what’s in his lab coat pocket. He pulls out the syringe, careful to try and conceal it in his hand. He can delay all this for a few hours and get his own bearings before he tries to re-establish Kon’s.

He moves his hand slowly, up towards Kon’s face so he doesn’t startle again.   
Kon looks him in the eyes and Tim really wishes he could understand it. No empaths he knows would have agreed to this, though.

“I’m going to need you to relax your muscles, can you do that for me?” He demonstrates by visibly relaxing his own.

Kon doesn’t seem to register the words, but Tim must somehow be conveying _ something _ like their meaning. The body under him slackens, surrenders.

Tim uncaps the syringe with one hand. The needle slips into the side of Kon’s neck and he whimpers, but doesn’t really flinch. Tim presses the plunger down, struggling to push the viscous anesthetic into Kon’s body.

“Good, good job, there you are,” Tim murmurs, aiming for a comforting tone.

The skin vulnerability quotient seemed to be consistent with the measurements he had on file, though he naturally prepared a inhalable option as backup.

For all the material preparation he had done, Tim doesn’t feel ready in the way that matters.

Tim waits for a few minutes before he feels safe to stand up. He shifts his focus to what he can do for now: a strictly physical analysis. He boots up his wrist computer and stands over the body, illuminating it in soft blue light as he scans. Everything seems well within range, which pleases Tim enormously.

He’s got time, and the metaphorical lab safety ship has already sailed: time to indulge some personal curiosity. Tim gently kicks Kon’s legs open and kneels between them. He had seen Kon naked incidentally, but never under such close scrutiny.

Tim hasn't actually seen a penis up this close, and never for such an extended period of time. Kon, obviously, has not been circumcised, and Tim would be... squeamish about doing it himself.

Tim isn’t sure if it’s average or large. He consults the measurements and runs them against relevant databases. Look at that: slightly above average. That seems fine. He doesn’t have as much information concerning Kryptonian genitalia as he’d like, but the appearance is quite human, at least at first glance. He taps back to his wrist computer and enables the remote MRI-simulator function.

Huh. Internal reproductive organs seem to indicate... versatility. Interesting to note, even if Tim made _ sure _ Kon would be sterile.

Tim takes out his pen and uses it to push the shaft aside and prods a little at his testicles. Nothing particularly interesting there. He lifts them and shimmies down to lie on his stomach and examine further.

There’s evidence of a underdeveloped vulva--or something like one-- there, and Tim pulls the slit there open with his thumbs. He gently pushes a finger inside, just a little. It seems pretty shallow, but still worth exploring.

A movement catches his attention as Kon’s dick twitches and fills out a little. Tim rubs his thumb down the length of the slit. A bit of fluid trapped there eases the friction and he rubs it down further, around the rim of Kon’s asshole. Kon is quickly hardening above him and Tim follows the instincts from the arousal building in his gut.

Tim strips off his gloves and spits into his hand. He grasps Kon’s dick and pumps it slowly (like he’s seen Dick and Jason do from afar). The blood rushing under his hand is hot and he thinks that’s a good sign.

He moves closer. He tentatively licks up the vein visible there and decides to put the head in his mouth. It stretches his lips a little. He raises his ass up and reaches a hand under himself to rub himself through his pants. He lets it slide a little further into his mouth. The sensation of it against his tongue--even just the thought of it--makes him flush. He's dizzy with it.

_ It can’t be wrong if he’s able to do it _, Tim thinks and he rubs himself faster.

He must be wet enough by now. He pulls off Kon’s dick and stands to take off his clothes. He lies back down, small against Kon’s sleeping form.

Tim’s never put anything this big inside himself but, oddly enough, he’s pretty relaxed. How hard can it be?

He uses one hand to prop up Kon’s dick and tries to guide it inside himself. He’s never been wetter, but he’s still having trouble. He lets go and spits into one hand and rubs it over the blunt head. He repositions, and that’s enough: the head pushes in.

Tim’s so wet that he can let gravity take over and he slides down a few inches. It hurts, just a little, and he pauses to let himself adjust. Maybe he wasn’t as relaxed as he thought--it feels much bigger than it looked.

He rubs some more spit over the remaining length and, after a minute, forces himself down the rest of the way. His swollen clit grazes Kon’s pelvis and he gasps.

Finally, the initial stretch is gone and there’s an odd, pleasant fullness. It seems to fit better now, which doesn’t _really_ make sense. Maybe Tim’s just getting used to it.

He strokes his clit with two fingers and tilts his hips forward. He starts grinding back and forth, just a little. Kon lets out a sound that’s pitched too low to be a whine and squirms a little. He’s metabolizing the drugs faster than Tim expected, but Tim isn’t particularly worried. Kon seems like he’d enjoy it.

He risks pushing himself up a little bit and dropping himself back down. His main experience in _ this _ arena has been humping pillows or furniture, so it’s an unfamiliar feeling. It’s a whole new kind of pleasant soreness, all slick and stretched like this. He rubs himself faster and tries to find a rhythm between the two movements.

Kon is panting now, and his muscles twitch aimlessly. It’s hard to tell if he’s conscious or not. Tim feels the familiar tide of pleasure in him rising, quicker than usual. He speeds up his hand and lets himself come.

As he’s grinding through the aftershocks, Kon’s eyes flutter open.

Tim takes Kon’s hands, and puts them on his hips.

Kon seems to get the idea. He sits up and maneuvers Tim to the ground.

He pins Tim down with his whole weight and clumsily tries to shove back inside him, but he forces himself into Tim’s ass and, _God, _it hurts more than Tim could have imagined.

Tim bites back a scream, escapes the pin as quickly as he can and scrambles away before Kon is lunging over him again, easy as anything.

He’s sure to guide Kon back inside him this time, and then goes limp and lets Kon rut into him.

Tim is _sure _ he’ll suffocate like this, but _ of all the ways to die__, right?_

Overstimulation makes him hot and cold at once and the inescapable pressure above him, inside him, makes it impossible to think.

Kon’s pace evens out, but becomes increasingly brutal. Tim’s eyes slide shut and he relishes being fucked like a toy.

Tim feels himself trembling as he wraps his legs around the small of Kon's back. He struggles to pull Kon deeper inside him. He has made _ quite _ sure Kon can’t knock him up, but the idea takes root in his hindbrain and makes him moan.

A wordless noise croaks past Kon’s lips and Tim feels his muscles tense. Kon’s dick is twitching and he tries to push it deeper inside Tim as he comes.

Their faces are inches away from each other, panting in and out; breathing the same air.

Some new consciousness has sparked in Kon’s eyes, Tim notes. It looks like a new feeling; a complex one.

Tim hypothesizes that it's awe, or at least in that ballpark. 

Tim _ knows _ he likes the look of it.

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it to the end and think I failed to tag something significant, please let me know! You can probably guess why I erred on the side of overtagging with this one.


End file.
